


He Tried

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 03:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly wakes up to the sounds of bangs and crashes in the kitchen and discovers her husband was attempting to serve her breakfast in bed. It didn't work out as well as he would have hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Tried

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IdrisSmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/gifts).



> So after some fic that was more on the angsty side I asked for fluffy fic prompts and I got a wonderful one from **IdrisSmith** : _Breakfast. Sherlock attempts to cook Molly breakfast because she had been feeling sick due to the pregnancy and he was definitely bad at it, swearing as he kept dropping everything, waking Molly up in the process._ I legit had so much fun with this.

Pregnancy did not suit Molly Holmes well.

She did not glow the way most pregnant women did. She felt ill most of the time, and proceeded to vomit at least twice a day. She had strange food cravings for foods she would normally turn her nose up at, and wanted them in combinations that made those around her turn slightly green as she ate. She felt fat and unattractive and was always so surprised when Sherlock said she looked lovely. Wasn’t he seeing what she saw? And the mood swings. Dear God, the mood swings. The littlest thing could set her off, either having her sob her heart out or fly into a rage. She hated pregnancy with a fiery passion and vowed she was never having another child ever again, that Sherlock was only going to be allowed to touch her again if he had a vasectomy, and there was going to be serious talk of adoption or surrogacy if they wanted a third child after the twins.

She’d been teetering on the edge of awake and asleep when she heard a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by a yelp and a loudly muttered “Damn.” It took her a moment but she realized it had been sounds like that that had slowly been waking her up for at least the last twenty minutes or so. She wondered what on earth her husband was doing in the kitchen. It wasn’t that he’d been forbidden from being in there; he’d just been strongly encouraged to do nothing more than make coffee and toast after he burnt the pancakes he’d tried to make to the point they couldn’t be scraped off the pan. She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly eight in the morning. She’d hoped to get a bit more sleep but Sherlock was going to make that impossible, she realized as she heard the distinct sound of breaking glass.

With a sigh she got herself out of bed. It took some time; she was seven months pregnant now and quite large. Her doctor had wanted to put her on bed rest but she knew that while Sherlock would try very hard it would be worse if he had to take care of everything. Whatever it was he was doing in the kitchen right now was proof enough of that. If she had to trust him to take care of the cooking and the cleaning and doing all the errands he’d either forget when a case or an experiment took up all of his attention or accidentally destroy Baker Street in the process. Admittedly he had gotten much better at certain things, but there was still quite a bit he had to do before he could run a household as well as she could.

She slowly made her way out of their bedroom and out towards the kitchen as she heard another crash and a yelp from Sherlock, followed by a string of profanity that began with a curse directed towards whichever ponce it was who created cast iron skillets. She rounded the corner to see the kitchen looking like a disaster, with Sherlock on the ground, cradling his bare foot. Her eyes were wide as she walked over to him. “What happened?” she asked.

“Any number of small disasters,” he said. “The latest of which was I dropped the skillet on my foot.” She looked over at him and a burst of laughter bubbled out of her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth as Sherlock looked up, glaring slightly. “It’s not amusing.”

She tried to hold back the laughter but it slipped through her fingers. Soon tears were leaking from her eyes. The whole situation, with the mess and the smoke from the oven and the puddle of orange juice next to Sherlock on the floor… it all was just so _funny_ even though it shouldn’t be. “Oh, Sherlock, _why_?” she asked, moving to the oven to turn it off. “Why were you cooking?”

“It’s Mother’s Day,” he said. “And you’re going to be a mother, and you’ve been ill lately, so I thought you deserved breakfast you didn’t have to cook. But Mrs. Hudson isn’t in her part of the flat so I had to make it myself and I just made a huge mess.”

She felt so touched by this, she really did. As soon as he stood up she went over to him and framed his face in her hands. He bent down and she kissed him softly. “That was a wonderful surprise,” she said. “Even if it didn’t go remotely according to plan. I feel so lucky that you even considered it.”

“Well, I wanted to do something that would make you happy,” he said, pulling her as close as he could.

“It makes me very happy,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t you help me clean this all up and then we get dressed and go out and buy breakfast? I feel fine at the moment, so I think I could brave a trip to the café I like to pick up a croissant sandwich with pickles. And we could come back here and eat in bed and then I can properly thank you for being considerate.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded. “I thought for sure you’d be upset.”

“Mmm, I think the fact you did it because you wanted me to have a nice Mother’s Day helped your case quite a bit,” she said. “I’m pregnant and I still don’t always think of myself as a mum all the time. It’s nice that you do, though.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Go get a mop so we can get the orange juice up, and then a broom for the glass, all right?”

He nodded. “All right,” he said. He pulled away from her and at the edge of the kitchen he stopped. “I love you, Molly.”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” she said with a wide smile. She watched him go and then turned back to the disaster that was the kitchen. It would take a little bit to clean up but the thought behind the attempted gift made the clean-up effort worth it.


End file.
